


Fox in the snow

by spider_babbo



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Denial, Dissociation, Eating Disorders, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, References to Depression, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man), Worried Ned Leeds, i wrote this too fast welp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-12 14:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21477544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spider_babbo/pseuds/spider_babbo
Summary: Peter isn't really sure how this all started.But he knows now that he's in deep, and he's not sure how to get back to the surface.Tony is alive and is a good dad no question, and author vents through fanfiction x
Relationships: Karen (Spider-Man: Homecoming) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 107





	1. how it started

**Author's Note:**

> me venting about my problems through fanfics????? no way!!! but hey things have been hard and idk whether this will be short or long but I'll see how we do, please stay safe and enjoy - obviously major trigger warnings for ed tendencies. Title is song by Belle and Sebastian

Peter isn’t really sure how this all started.

If you said to him this time last year – “you’ll have an eating disorder in a years’ time” – he would have laughed incredulously, also giving you a dirty look on the way out.

But here he was.

The first thing he noticed was during his quiet, restful moments during patrol; perched on a roof somewhere watching the sky turn from orange to black, he would idly check his wrist. Looping his index finger and thumb around the red and blue of his suit – just making sure he could still encase the bone comfortably in between his fingers. Sometimes he’d just hold it there, like a safety belt, and he was calmer once he had checked. But he didn’t know why, and he didn’t know where he’d got this habit from – no one he knew did this. He then found himself skipping out on his patrol snack – a sandwich from Delmar’s, and he knew that he felt calmer with the way his stomach protested and squirmed towards the end of the evening, knowing that it was empty. He liked this feeling so much that he started skipping dinner all together, so his stomach would perform it’s symphony all evening, and he felt like a school kid being praised for acing a test. He did start picking up a few extra cuts and scrapes along the way though, he’d been struggling with his balance a lot. And of course, Karen had something to say; supposedly Peter’s blood sugar was too low to be doing as much activity as he was, and despite her being an AI she always managed to ask if he was ok in a very human way. Which was the first time he stopped to think “Am I ok?”

He decided he was perfectly fine.

He then decided that he _hated _the food at the school canteen – all that oily shit floating on the top of the sauces, grey looking chicken – he swore he’d caught food poisoning and was just being extra careful about what he ate from there. That’s literally all it was, he’d exclaimed with a huff to a worried looking Ned; eyes boring into the single apple and portion of rice on his plate. He noticed how his mouth filled with saliva as fast as a dam bursting every time Ned parked his full plate next to Peter’s very small one, but it was easily washed down with a chug of water. This was all fine, but the board at the front of the class started getting more blurry as the weeks went on; black dots kept swimming in front of it if he whipped his head up from the desk too fast after trying to reduce the constant fatigue he felt. He actually got referred to the guidance counselor for this, for having his head on the desk! Didn’t they have more important things to look out for? There were students who genuinely needed help with their problems, why did they keep pestering him to keep his appointments?

Of course this got round to May. She’d had a call from the school to say that they’d asked Peter several times to see the guidance counselor and hadn’t gone; they said they noticed that his grades had been steadily dropping, and that frankly, he looked like he never slept. He knew May had something to talk about as soon as he entered the front room, back from patrol and still steadying his racing heart. Seeing her leaning against the kitchen counter on one arm, mouth in a straight line and eye brow raised, he froze a little before greeting her in the usual way. She’d gotten straight into it – quizzed him to death about all this looking sickly, exhausted, and like he wasn’t enjoying things anymore, that she could tell something was wrong and wished she’d have asked before the school did, that it was ok to talk to her about anything. It felt like an assault – what did she and the school know, this was all just bullshit and now they’d convinced May there was something ‘wrong’ with him. He was just tired from patrolling and school had been catching up with him, but he was getting it sorted! And he _did _still enjoy things – he loved the way his trousers were too big for him, hipbones and spine protruding through his suit, loved the sound of his stomach growling reminding him of his self-discipline, he enjoyed seeing a new low number every week on the scales –

Peter caught himself before he said any of the latter things out loud to May; he knew she wouldn’t understand, and even he could see that it was a little odd for him to enjoy these things so much. When had he started enjoying these thing so much anyway? Time was so fuzzy recently – how long had it been since his last Delmar’s sandwich? How long had he been stood in front of May? How long had she been calling his name for him to answer her questions?

Safe to say that evening hadn’t been the best, but afterwards Peter learned he needed to try harder in front of May. He made sure he texted her more often, always made time to come and tell her about his day, asking about hers, showing her a smile, and it made life easier for her. She didn’t need to know about Peter’s periods of fasting, him passing out as he fell through the window from patrol some nights, about him basically screaming at Karen one night through his suit and several tears that if she notified Tony about his eating habits he’d decode her (Peter knew he wouldn’t do that, and maybe Karen did too, but the last thing he needed was Tony getting pissed at him for simply changing up his diet). He’d said some really nasty shit to her – it didn’t matter if she was an AI – he never imagined he’d say such venomous things about anyone.

It worked out for a bit. He and May were really good, Tony hadn’t been notified about any of the drama, and he still had hours of fun at the compound once a week, and Ned and MJ just gave up asking eventually. His fingernails were like the blue of his suit, and he’d been pretty badly apprehended many times as his shaking fists had been too slow to stop whatever he was dealing with. But as long as the little guy was still safe, that’s what mattered, he didn’t care how hurt he got (plus patrolling burned so many calories). As long as those numbers kept going down in a steady slope, as long as he felt that space in his stomach, he was happy. Peter was keeping his head just above the water, and it was bliss to feel so light and buoyant.

Until he passed out at the wrong time.


	2. the ground comes towards you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyyyyy I should be sleeping but i decided i wanted this out ASAP, idk when next update will be but please enjoy and love to all!!

He felt the world pressing in around him 10 times more than usual that day, something obviously had to go tits up when he could hear 5 different pitches ringing in his ears as his nutrient-deprived blood tried to energise him. The journey to school was claustrophobic, made worse when he noticed a woman looking at him like he was missing an arm. Yes, he looked like shit, even he was willing to admit that now – but he also didn’t really care.

Whatever had gotten into Peter’s brain had taken the wheel a long time ago and he hadn’t even noticed before it was too late. May kept trying to get him to take a week off school, even offering to let him stay with Tony at the compound if he wanted – just to get away from it all and take a break: “God knows you need it sweetie” she’d said, eyes glistening. But he always said no. He could _not _afford to disrupt his schedule like that; he needed to know where he’d be eating and what would be available, and he knew Tony ordered a shit ton of take-outs which were not an option for Peter (he’d convinced himself they were all bouts of food poisoning waiting to happen a long time ago). Also, if he did take a week off school that probably meant from patrolling too, which could also not happen; missing out on the exercise brought horrifying images to his head of his body ballooning outwards within one day. He knew logically this couldn’t happen – but it _could. _

_Yeah lady, I know. _He wanted to say to the woman opposite him on the subway, but he really didn’t have the energy to waste on that.

Things didn’t improve when he greeted Ned and MJ – they were giving him a look similar to that from the lady on the subway, but one coming more from a place of _I know what you’re doing, please stop. _MJ had been blunt about the whole situation with him over text one evening, so as not to crowd him, but Peter got really mad. She wasn’t a fucking psychologist, why was she trying to diagnose him with some eating disorder shit and sending him links to help-websites and articles? Where had this even come from? He admitted he exploded and was way too harsh, but was still adamant that MJ was mistaken – his metabolism is super-fast and patrol has been hectic, of course he’s going to shed some weight. Needless to say – there were even more awkward stares and silences after that, obviously MJ had communicated with Ned about it, and he hated feeling like they’d been talking about him every time he greeted them both. She obviously wasn’t buying Peter’s alibi for his appetite, and to be honest, neither was he.

He huffed a ‘hey’ to them both, noticing their eyes shifting around him, taking in his appearance like they were gathering evidence. He really felt like just telling them to fuck off and storming off, but he found the will power to smile a little and start some small talk. It had never been this hard to maintain his friendship with two of the coolest people in the world (in his opinion anyway), he loves Ned and MJ more than he’d ever told them, and now he barely has the energy to tolerate them looking at him weird. These were the times when could physically _feel_ how much darker his brain had become, like it had developed some gross, black mould causing him to spew out horrible things to the world, making people’s eyes droops sadly every time he opened his mouth.

God he wanted to die.

He was worrying about what he would eat at lunchtime and how he could avoid causing his stomach more grief by catching sight of Ned and MJ’s glowing plates, but he didn’t know he wouldn’t even make it to the canteen that day.

It was when Miss Lopez had called on him for the second time in Spanish, clearly trying to get him to keep his head up from the desk for at least half the lesson – it had been the nail in the coffin. Peter felt his cold lips move to answer (even though he didn’t really know what she’d said), and he knew by the looks on everyone’s faces and hearing the scrapes of chairs moving to turn to him, that he’d just said something _very _odd. He felt a bone jerking shiver go all the way up his body, suddenly feeling very sick, and went to ask Miss Lopez if he could be excused.

Why was she walking towards him? Also, who turned the lights down in here?

He realised nothing but a groan had come out of his mouth, and then the seat came away from him as the ground came towards him (or at least that’s what it felt like). He remembered thinking – _I really didn’t want to die in school. _Then there was just black for a little while.

He woke up, to his relief, in the back seat of a car – a very nice car at that. Soft leather seats took the shock of every bump in the road, and were those heaters he could feel? He hadn’t felt this warm in a long time, and his involuntary sigh of contempt must have alerted the driver, as he heard a voice. It sounded like something along the lines of “Don’t move buddy, we’re almost there.” And it was definitely a low and smooth voice he recognised, but the ringing in his ears was deafening now, and he just couldn’t place it.

Also, why was he in a car? He remembered he’d passed out, but surely he should be in the nurse’s office, not in some swanky car that was definitely not going at a safe speed.

Oh _shit, _someone had taken advantage of him and now he’d been fucking kidnapped, and he couldn’t even sit up to try and barrel-roll out of the car door or apprehend the driver. Still, for a kidnapper, he had a very calming voice, and as far as he could tell he wasn’t restrained, weird.

Peter loosened his lips and started up his voice, but only managed a few feeble moans and a “help” – which had meant to be a lot louder. His suspected kidnapper had obviously heard.

“Pete I can’t stop driving, but help is coming I promise. It should have come a _long _fucking time ago…”

So they knew his nickname, and they were getting him help? This didn’t really feel like your average way to treat a hostage, but Peter’s brain was too tired to process all this information and start putting two and two together. He didn’t remember losing consciousness again, but he wasn’t in the car the next time he woke up.

He was in a bed.

The room was so light, and as his eyes focused to as best they did these days, he saw a lovely view from a floor length window – an open green field with trees lining the horizon, clean sky with atmospheric clouds. It felt somewhat familiar, but his thoughts were sluggish and he felt like he’d ridden the same terrifying rollercoaster 100 times. His eyes went to a clock on the wall and saw it was 12:30 – jeez, he hadn’t even made it to lunch. He knew he must be feeling shit, as his spider senses didn’t have time to alert him of the presence in the room before it spoke, low and soft.

“Hey Peter. I brought you to the compound, we need to talk.”

As Peter focused on Tony’s face, everything that had occurred in the last six months hit him like a ton of bricks. His mentor looked almost haggard with exhaustion; his eyes wide and red tinted, forehead creased with the effort of worry on his face, and he was hunched in an armchair as if he was leaning towards Peter like he was an orphaned puppy. Peter remembered what Tony had said in the car on the way here – he pictured him reading over Peter’s vitals in the suit as he passed out almost routinely ending his patrol, pictured him having phone calls with May trying to convince him to stay at the compound for more weekends, discussing his report card from school with her. He had a horrible feeling all these things and more had occurred under his nose, and he’d been too fucking hungry to notice. He’d caused all of the lines on Tony’s face to appear, he’d caused the dark circles.

But still, _still, _he couldn’t quite believe what darkness had been growing inside him. Even looking down at his pale arm which was the same colour as the white hospital blanket, seeing his wan face in the reflection of glass lining the room, Peter stared right through the illness. Like the dust that floats in the air around him – its easier to look past it, than to bother counting the particles and seeing how they move. It’s easier to ignore you have a problem, and focus on other people’s.

“What about?” Peter finally, hoarsely replied.

“You know.”

Something else appeared in Tony’s demeanour as he spoke – a ferociousness and fire, not directed toward Peter himself, but whatever had taken over and put his kid in this position. But Peter wasn’t giving up anything that easily; his fight or flight mode was on full power, and he wasn’t surprised that after just shrugging his shoulders, Tony let go of his frustrations.

“Oh no no, kid, you _do _know. And you’re going to tell me why you think it’s ok to ignore a problem as big as this, and continue to put yourself in danger. You’re going to shrug your shoulders when, never mind school – you’ve been out _patrolling _with a BMI of 15, vitamins and blood sugar off-the-charts low, and then screaming at Karen who is there to _help _you that if I was notified about any of this you would, ah what’s the phrase: _decode _her_?_”

_Karen you fucking traitor_

“You’re going to shrug your goddamn shoulders when I’ve had not just your Aunt, but even your friends Ned and MJ contacting me, and in their words, saying they’re watching you ‘waste away’ and they’ve run out of ideas of what to do. They can’t get you to take a break, they can’t get you to admit there’s a problem; your Aunt is distraught Peter. And you shrug your shoulders…”

Tony turned away and scoffed, rubbing his weathered hands over his equally weathered face, taking a deep breath in as he spoke quieter,

“And you shrug your shoulders, when you pass out in school, cold as ice, scaring the absolute shit out of me when I have to carry you to my car and you feel like a pile of laundry in my arms.”

Tony seemed to deflate, like his initial anger had been keeping him buoyant in this terrible confrontation, and now he was sinking into deep and overwhelming sadness for the sorry sight that was Peter.

Peter however, had begun to shake. He’d never been called out like this before, and he felt like Tony had pried open his brain and scooped everything out; laid it out flat for everyone to gawp at, and he was angry.

“You don’t know anything Mister Stark.” He said before he could stop himself.

And it was true. He wasn’t Peter: he had no idea what it had been like to actually go through all this in real time instead of just reeling off events like some documentary narrator, he had no right to comment so critically and tell him how he could react to his _own _fucking problems.

“You know what…” Tony stood with such velocity he thought the chair would crash through the window behind him. He took three big strides to the door of the room, and as he grabbed the handle he turned towards Peter; deep brown eyes drilling holes into Peter’s head. “When you’re ready to talk let me know, but you’re not leaving here ‘till you do –“

“You can’t fucking do that Tony!” Peter surprised himself with his fast interruption, hearing his voice crack under the explosive hot air that rushed through him.

“You almost died, Pete. I can.” Tony didn’t rise to Peter’s vocal level – he was almost at a whisper – but he didn’t need to, the statement spoke for itself. He left Peter feeling smaller than restricting had ever made him feel. He was a child in the naughty corner, he was the devil himself, he deserved to die. And this is how Peter’s thoughts continued; leaking from every orifice onto the bed below his bony hips and spine. He distracted himself by going through what the ideal food would have been to have kept him conscious so he could have avoided this train wreck in the first place, yet wouldn’t have turned his stomach to lead. He never found the perfect answer.

He only realised he’d been silently crying once the tears had dried to a sticky, salty texture on his cheeks.

Peter was a stuck record. He was in pain – he knew he was – but he was _fine. _There was no big diagnosis or intervention that needed to happen, he wasn’t _that s_ick, not like those stick-thin models all over the internet and magazines that came up on MJ’s Instagram timeline and made her huff in disgust. Yet all the things Tony had listed were true, but it was like fitting a square peg into a round hole – they just wouldn’t sink in to Peter’s brain. He went round and round these two ways of seeing himself: someone who was in control and someone who wasn’t, and he realised that he didn’t really know who he was at all anymore.


	3. mother may

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: I CHANGED MY USER NAME. IT IS STILL SYLVIE_HAWTHORN BUT NOW SPIDER_BABBO

He came to his surroundings when the last beam of sunlight retreated behind the treetops, until only a glittering hue could be seen poking between the pines, and plunged the med-bay room into a dark purple. He’d been dissociating for the last 5 hours, and now he’d come back down from his mind he could feel the IV line in his arm that was feeding him shit, and could see how his whole body protruded outwards into an existence he didn’t deserve. He considered just ripping it out and bolting, but he knew Tony better than that, and F.R.I.D.A.Y would surely grass him up within .5 seconds of his movement. He looked towards the glass of the med-bay room that revealed the corridor just outside. There was no _physical _being there, but you bet there was about a billion dollars’ worth of AI tech in that small space, all waiting for Peter to make one wrong move.

He was therefore surprised when a figure came to pass a little while later, one he’d recognise anywhere. It walked with a nervous gait, long dark hair swaying behind, delicate glasses perched on the end of a kind face.

May turned towards him through the glass, and the guilt of her having to see him like this brought on heavy tears.

May mirrored him, as her face broke as she entered the room, saying “Oh, honey”.

They didn’t talk for a while; Peter just held onto her like he was about to fall into a bottomless pit, and they both silently cried, leaving little dark circles on each other’s shirts. It was May who finally pulled away and took Peter’s face in her hands.

“I’m sorry I let it get this bad Peter. Mr Stark filled me in on everything and I am just _so_ sorry.” She took in a sharp breath and Peter interrupted.

“Please don’t say sorry May, it’s not your fault. I’m just…dumb” Peter looked down, feeling his face grimace under fresh sobs.

“No Peter. Don’t ever say that,” she said seriously, wiping Peter’s cheeks dry, “You’re the most incredible 16 year-old I know, and we’re going to get past this – I know you can.” She nodded firmly, as if her words were setting in stone. Peter didn’t know where this raw strength May had came from, and he almost envied her; maybe he wouldn’t be such a mess if he’d taken a leaf out of her book. “And I can tell you’re beating yourself up in your head right now, you don’t need to do that, Petey.” She gently patted his curls as if she was soothing his brain directly, and Peter hummed at the touch – the first time he’d smiled all day.

“However honey, I think you need to be honest with Mr Stark. Please, talk to him.”

Peter’s smile faltered a little. This was something he didn’t feel he was ready to do, as he couldn’t even be honest with _himself_, but it was his only chance of escaping this prison in disguise Tony had put him in. The fact that his brain still saw himself as ‘trapped’ and not being ‘helped’ was telling that he had a long way to go before he could verbalise that something was going seriously wrong up in his head. Neither Tony or May had dared mention ‘eating disorder’, ‘problem with food’, ‘depression’, or any of those long, daunting, psychological phrases MJ had pulled out during their heated text argument. Peter guessed they were waiting for him to say it, which at this rate, he never would.

Because he wasn’t _fucking sick _and why were they still pumping this gloopy disgusting mud into his system which was going to make him so ill and gross and bloated and –

May’s gentle fingers in his hand reminded him to breathe, and he did.

“I’ll try.” He managed to squeeze out thickly. It was the best he could come up with.

“I’ll be here with you – in the compound I mean. Tony’s got so many rooms in this place so I can be with you whilst you get your strength back.” May smiled lightly, trying to keep the mood above the darkness it had been when she entered.

“You can’t just take me home?” Peter felt like a pleading 5 year-old.

“I’m sorry honey, but I have to agree with Tony on this one,” May held Peter’s pale hand in both of her warm ones, “you need to be here till you’re well enough to cope back home with me, you’re…really weak Petey.” New moisture gathered in her eyes, taking in Peter’s fragile state all over again.

_So this is it…_Peter thought. This was how it’d be; he’d be hooked up to these grotesque machines where Tony would fatten him up like a prize heifer, being constantly berated for choosing not to eat, endless guilt-tripping and surveillance, fluctuating around some unattainable healthy weight. He saw his body morphing – widening and slimming as fast as if someone had sped up the tape on life. Peter knew full well how much more suicidal he’d get from this life style, but he honestly doesn’t care. _Let it push me over the edge_, he dared his brain, finally he’d have the strength to stop giving people grief with his incompetence around food, and people would be able to talk about something else when he wasn’t in the room.

He then guessed, sadly, that dying of starvation wouldn’t mean people would stop talking about him.

“I don’t feel too weak, May.” Peter tried to say as if he wasn’t being kept alive by the medical equipment around him. May just shook her head gently, gesturing to the rest of Peter’s body, and then bringing her sad eyes back to his. She sighed and leaned back in the chair, painting on a comforting smile.

“I’m going to get some dinner Petey, and unpack a few of our things, you want me to bring you anything?” She asked hopefully. Peter shook his head, recoiling into himself once more. May kissed the top of his head, and lingered there for a few seconds, before leaving.

May came back a little while later. She brought Peter a few of his favourite books, his laptop, clean clothes, and one of Ben’s old jumpers he liked to wear when he lounged around the house. The words “Did you bring my suit?” came to the tip of Peter’s tongue, but _of course_ Tony would have grounded him and locked down the suit before he’d even driven him to the compound. A brief, hot flash of anger at Tony shot through him once again, realising how much the man had taken from him and changed his way of life in less than 12 hours, but it dissipated as fast as it came. Peter was too tired to feel emotions that were too intense, and maybe, he was glad his body wouldn’t have to shut down after over-exerting himself on patrol.

May, kind as ever, stayed with Peter until late that night; finally retiring to bed after Peter’s many protests that he would be fine (and May sensed he wanted some time to himself). She tucked him in like he was a little boy, kissing his head with a gentle touch of her lips, and a stroke of the cheek – making sure the blanket touched the tip of his chin. For a few moments Peter was back at their house: Ben was alive, he was 10 years old, and he’d had a long day at school after which May had made him his favourite dinner (spaghetti) to ‘grow him big and strong’. Then she left the room and it was very cold – even wrapped up burrito-style in his bed.

He was woken early the next morning by someone changing his IV fluids (probably one of the nurses Tony kept around to deal with ‘enhanced’ folk like him), but he was too dazed to really take notice of what was being pumped into him today. They had offered him some breakfast, saying that he could have anything he wanted, but Peter hadn’t replied. After they’d left, he checked the fat on his thighs and wrists a few times, trying his best to focus on the body that was _actually _in front of him, and not the horrifying, enormous images his brain was imposing onto himself.

He hadn’t expected Tony to come back and see him so soon after yesterday – the intrusion on Peter’s mind was still sore and healing, and by the abrupt exit Tony had made, he could tell he was pissed off with Peter’s whining. He was a fucking _nutcase _and a _baby _and he really didn’t deserve to be here, taking up space and energy from Tony Stark who already had the rest of the world on his shoulders –

“Pete?”

Tony was waiting expectantly for an answer to something Peter had missed, and his brain came back down from the air. Peter opened his mouth, feeling his lips unstick and crack at the corners, and ran his tongue over them.

“Hm?”

“How you feeling this morning?” Tony repeated patiently.

“I’m not really feeling anything” Peter said, emptily.

Tony just nodded, shifting in his seat. He’d expected an answer along those lines, but it still made him uncomfortable and at loss for what to reply with.

“That’s alright kid,”

There was a pause as Tony prepared himself to speak again, whist Peter pulled his knees to his chin, subconsciously defending himself.

“I’m sorry about yesterday Pete, I’m just really new to this and…I really don’t like seeing you this way.” Tony exhaled, “I just want to do what’s best for you bud.” Tony knew that apologies were not his strong point, but they seemed to come a little easier with his mentee, especially when hardly any apologies had been needed between them; they never had falling outs.

“That’s ok Tony” Peter replied at barely a whisper. Their eyes only briefly met, before Peter’s flitted away and back to the window, tucking himself further into his knees. The guilt was seeping into every pore of Peter’s body – _I don’t deserve him, I don’t deserve any treatment, I’m a waste of fucking space – _

“You feel like getting anything off your chest?” Tony asked, with caution.

_So he’s just come to make me talk,_ was Peter’s immediate and intrusive thought, but he knew that Tony just wanted to help; it wasn’t an interrogation. But a part of his mind believed that it was, and that part was duct taping Peter’s mouth tightly shut before he could spill out horrors of what had been happening inside his brain for the past six months. That part told him that he wasn’t sick enough to even be here, and that the abuse he’d been subjecting to himself was fit for him. So, did Peter want to get anything off his chest? _Yes. _But not all of him was ready for it yet.

“I…I think I do, but I just can’t right now if that’s ok Mr Stark.” Peter managed to squeeze out, eyes pleading with Tony’s. To his surprise, Tony actually smiled a little.

“Thanks for letting me know Pete, that was brave.” Tony replied fondly, and then his smile faltered a little,

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you here, Pete, but those fluids can only do so much for a super-spider such as yourself…and we really need you to eat something soon.” Tony braced for Peter to explode, but it didn’t come. Peter appeared to just float away behind the eyes as they glistened with new tears. There was a long, thick moment of nothing – long enough for Tony to think about shaking Peter by his shoulder – before he nodded silently in reply, seeing his Adam’s apple bob up and down. Tony exhaled softly through his nose.

“We need your mind working for when we get you started on some therapy”

This got more of a reaction out of Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello!! ahhhhh i feel like this is going so bad but you know im here im writing we livin, anyway next chapter i promise they'll be something a little brighter with lovely Ned and MJ, see you next time x


End file.
